Sieg Heil! by Pesach Rotem Remember Dr. Strangelove? Dr. Strangelove had an unusual affliction. He could not stop himself from making a Nazi salute. He knew that in the United States of America it was socially and politically inappropriate to make a Nazi salute but he did it anyway. He just couldn’t help it. Dr. Strangelove was a fictional character. It was satire. It was funny. Sixty years later and here comes Elon Musk, who appears to be suffering from the same damn affliction except for a couple of minor differences: 1. Elon Musk is non-fictional. 2. He is not the slightest bit funny. November 22, 1963 by Pesach Rotem I am sitting in Mrs. Hinkley’s fourth-grade classroom. We are reading the story of Old Yeller, a heroic dog who meets a tragic end. Suddenly, the P.A. box mounted on the wall squawks. I expect, naturally, to hear the principal’s voice but I do not hear Mr. Grant’s voice. I hear Walter Cronkite’s voice and it is very serious. He is saying something about Dallas, Texas. Is he crying? Of course not. Walter Cronkite doesn’t cry. But it does sound like Walter Cronkite is crying. It is very serious. Caesar had his Antony. Lincoln his Whitman. Who will eulogize our handsome young prince, victim of a murder most foul? Life Lessons by Pesach Rotem When I was nine years old, I had to go to bed at 8:30 every night. “No fair!” I protested, “Bruce gets to stay up till 9.” “When you’re as old as Bruce,” my mother assured me, “you can go to bed at 9 o’clock.” It was a trick, of course. I knew I would never be as old as Bruce. You didn’t have to be a particularly precocious child to see through that one. Thus I learned not only to distrust my mother, but to distrust all grown-ups, everywhere. An important lesson for every child’s growth and development. When I was fifty-nine-and-three-quarters, I had my first heart attack. It caused significant irreversible damage to my heart, leaving me in a weakened state, constantly fatigued. Bruce was hiking the Grand Canyon. “Yippee!” I shouted to my mother’s ghost. “I did it! I’m older than Bruce! Now I can go to bed at 9 o’clock!” Lesson number two: Be careful what you wish for. The Rooster Crows by Pesach Rotem When your rooster crows at the break of dawn Look out your window and I’ll be gone — Bob Dylan — The rooster doesn’t crow at the break of dawn. That’s just one more lie we were told by our parents and teachers. The alarm clock crows at the break of dawn. That diabolical tyrannical mechanical contraption. Go to school! Go to work! No more snoozing! No more dreaming! Get up now! I ain’t no rooster! When I was sixty-two years old, I moved to Yodfat, next door to David and Kathy, their three lovely children, their beautiful flower garden, and their chicken coop. And guess what? The rooster crows at the break of dawn.
Pesach Rotem was born and raised in New York and now lives in Yodfat, Israel. He is a member of the Voices Israel Group of Poets in English and of the Israel Association of Writers in English. His poem “Kindness” was awarded Honorable Mention in the Reuben Rose Poetry Competition, and his poem “Professor Hofstadter’s Brain” was nominated for a Best of the Net Award.
